Bloodstains on pure white
by lizardsnake
Summary: Maliks thoughts about his brother, his hatred and...Altair. Warning: Character!Death


**A/N: The story was in German and MissBloodyShining translated it for me. Thank you honey! *hug***

**Bloodstains on pure White**

„Safety and peace, Altaïr."

Bright eyes followed the Assassin in the Bureau, who was lightened by the soft light of moon shine, which fought its way through the close-meshed grid of the roof and let his gown shine like a stars vile.

With a smug smile Malik looked over to Altaïr, who twisted his head with a slight grin to his friend, before he left without any second word to relax from the day and its problems before.

Sometimes he asked himself, whether there were more arrogant people on this world, than his brother from their membership but when he thought about it again, it was not really possible.

Most of the time he felt the unfulfilled urge to hit him right into his face, to wash off this smug smirk.

Malik's turned his attention back to the faded writing of the parchment in front of him. Tired eyes flitted across the paper – it was too late and his concentration had faded long ago.

His brown eyes watched again the place, where Altaïr stood only mere moments ago. He could not stand his presence, when they were together, the old memories came back to he surface.

He always tried to get rid of his thoughts, but they came always back into his mind. Kadar's happy laughter echoed through the room, but it was just a faint shadow of that, what was so long before, but it always let Malik smile.

It was not a smile, that expressed happiness, but it was filled with pain and hurt and tormented fell on his face again.

The time went by, the work did not distract him anymore and so he drifted with his mind back to Kadar and with that also to Altaïr. The next time he looked up, the sun already began to rise.

Malik let his eyes relax for a moment, as he let go of the drawings, on which he hatched all night long and suddenly he balled his hand to a fist.

He couldn't go on like this, he couldn't pretend that nothing ever happened.

Altaïr may already get his punishment for his misstep, he was degraded, but got his old position back – step by step.

Malik had lost an arm, his brother and with that his life. This was just too unfair.

He merely registraded it, but his hand had moved, grabbed for the cold steel, and without blinking again, he was in the next room.

The small wells on both sides splashed quietly, glittering water dropped in their pools. The golden sunshine fell through the half-opened roof and let the embroidered cushions shine in all their colourful bright.

The white hood pulled down in his face, to avoid the tickling light, Altaïr laid on the soft padding, soft breaths escaped his lips.

Malik watched this harmonic scene and he pressed his lips to a small line.

Dark eyes hatched to the perfect white feather, which he had put in his belt and he narrowed his brows.

Cramped fingers hold the hilt of this short sword, which reflected his silver shine on the walls and shone in the pure white of Altaïr's coat especially brilliant.

But Altaïr's west wasn't as white as it was before. His west was stained with invisible blood, blood from sinners, blood from innocents…blood from Kadar.

His brother had to die, because his best friend was too arrogant, too thoughtless, too hasty.

With pain the pictures returned again and the memories let Malik's muscles shudder.

His knuckles were white, so cramped he hold the leathery hilt of the weapon, but it didn't weaken the pain.

He knew he couldn't do it.

Not like that.

Malik couldn't stand this view any longer, how peacefully the Assassin slept, so innocent and unaware of all that was around him.

No, that wasn't true.

Altaïr's innocent was thrown away long ago.

Malik swallowed.

He turned around, the hatred boiled in his guts stronger than ever and for a short moment he asked himself, why he hadn't stabbed Altaïr long ago.

Maybe it was for their long broken friendship's sake, to look into his eyes, the last moment before the last breathe of live came out of his lungs.

He could barely breath, his body shaking, his head filled with rotating thoughts, each too fast to reach out and hold tight onto it.

He felt bad.

How could it come this far? Why hadn't he just stopped it? He was too blind and hated himself for it.

But it wasn't enough, not enough to still his anger. To long he had tried to see the mistakes made by himself, but it was all Altaïr's fault, just like the boiling hate, which was in him.

"Malik?"

The illusive relaxing peace was disturbed out of sudden and the voice let Malik's insides freeze to ice.

He needed an end, for his hatred, his pain, his revenge.

Maybe Altaïr hadn't seen it come, maybe he didn't want to fight back and Malik didn't bother.

He hadn't thought about it, his body just moved, it was all automatically, as he turned around, he made a step and pushed the flashing blade into Altaïr's flesh.

Neatly he severed the used leather belt, the red cloth, which was around his hip and also the snow-white fabric of his Assassin robe, until he reached his flesh, stabbed it as it was air.

Even with the dark shadows, which were over Altaïr's eyes, he could see the surprised expression on his face, the noiseless sound coming out of his throat near his ear, as he pushed his opposite against the wall and turned the sword around in a second.

For some moments the blade remained like that and it seemed like eternity, only the scratching noise on the sandy wall and their uneven breaths were to be heard.

"I…am sorry."

Malik's hand shuddered and his cold grip loosed.

Did Altaïr knew what brought him to this situation?

Sure, he knew the Assassin had an unbreakable proud, but he wasn't hit on his head.

Malik pushed his lips together, as he pulled his sword out of Altaïr's body and let it fall on the floor, just like hot metal. Dull it landed on a soft cushion, which swallowed the blood greedily.

Altaïr leaned forward, his hands searched instinctively for hold and finally found it on Malik's arm, his fingers clutching the dark fabric of his sleeve and Malik let him.

Blood fell noiseless on the ground, in the same moment with the first slothful raindrops, which pearled softly off of them.

Why didn't he feel something like happiness?  
>A little bit of satisfaction or at least mitigation of his pain?<br>But all the hurt remained and was stronger than before.

"No, Altaïr…, I am sorry."

His voice was barely over a whisper.

Both sank to their knees, so soft as it was possible with his one arm, Malik let his opposite glide to the ground, bedded on the colourful padding, which were soon blood red.

Malik listened to the fast, uncontrolled breaths, which came crawling out of Altaïr's throat and through his clenched teeth, felt his body cramping next to his and fighting the nearing death.

Altaïr's robe, normally white as snow, was now coloured red, piece by piece the fabric sucked the fluid and with that his live.

"_Ma…lik…"_

Fitfully reached the short syllables Malik, nearly hounded, as he wanted to get rit of them, but soon the pressure on his arm faded away, until it was gone completely and his last breath was taken.

Malik closed his eyes for a moment.

He could forgive, even it was much too late.  
>Now it could rest, the old memories, their old friendship, the old hatred.<p>

Malik's fingers stroked over Altaïr lids and closed his eyes…forever.

With a practiced hand move Malik took the feather and drew through the blood.

The sun didn't shine anymore, the harmonic scene was gone, red covered the pure white and the rain mixed with tears, which fell lazily to the ground.

„Safety and peace … my _friend_."


End file.
